


A troubled night

by FenHarelsPride (Andauril)



Series: Siryn Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andauril/pseuds/FenHarelsPride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Siryn Lavellan is still struggling with what happened to her at the conclave. When she is plagued by nightmares while she and Solas are sharing a tent, he offers assistance.</p><p>(minor edits)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A troubled night

Siryn bend and flexed her hand, seeking to ease the dull ache in her palm. It was better than it had been before, when the Breach was still growing. Yet, the pain itself still lingered, unwilling to fade away, reminding her of the heavy weight burdening her shoulders.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her new companions. She still didn’t quite know what to make out of them …

Cassandra spooned the tasteless, thick soup out of her bowl, slightly frowning, posture tense as if she was awaiting an ambush. Siryn hadn’t spoken much with her since their departure from Haven this morning, but the older woman seemed stern, unwavering … They’d argued other faith the day before, when Cassandra had asked her how she thought about her Maker. Though the seeker had not accused her of mass murder any more, Siryn knew their relationship was tense. Teeth-clenched teamwork, at best.

Varric lifted his head from his palm, taking a sip from his mug before he turned to look at her.

“Hey, Violet … You’re always that quiet?”

Siryn shook her head. “Only if surrounded by strangers.”

“Ah, I guess that’ll change soon enough.” He smiled at her. “Seems like we’re stuck with each other for a while. So, I’m just curious … what did a Dalish want at the conclave?”

Siryn thought about the question for a moment, than figured it didn’t matter if he learned of the truth. The conclave was now nothing more than ashes and rubble, and her clan too far away to be harmed by her telling the truth.

“Watching.”

Varric raised an eyebrow at her.

“And by watching, I mean spying”, she added. “My keeper wanted to know what to expect from the _shemlen_.” Siryn forced a weak laugh. “I’m pretty certain she wasn’t expecting anything like _this._ ”

“Neither of us was, that’s for certain.” Varric shrugged, than sighed. “And here I am now, dragged right into another mess … You really don’t know how you survived all this shit, Violet?”

Siryn shook her head. “No. I still don’t remember. I’m sorry.” She frowned slightly. “I hope I’m not too insistent, but … why do you keep calling me _‘Violet’_?”

“Because I like to have nicknames for people around me. Cassandra for example is _‘seeker’_ , but I thought awhile about _‘book-stabber’_ , actually.”

“Very funny, Varric” came Cassandra’s response from the other side of the camp fire.

“It wasn’t funny for me. The ink of this book was dragon blood, you know? Heavily expensive stuff. You still haven’t paid me.”

Cassandra snorted in disgust and turned to eating her soup, her frown deepening.

Varric shrugged. “She’s no fun.”

“So I’m Violet because … of my eyes?”

“Exactly!” Varric smiled and took another sip from his mug. “And I don’t want that all this Herold business goes into you head. It’s better to keep you grounded.”

Siryn opened and closed her fist, suppressing the moan of unease that threated to escape her throat. “You should know by now that I don’t believe in the Maker, Varric.”

“Of course I do. Never heard of any Dalish who did.” Varric smirked briedly. “But that doesn’t mean all the worship won’t go to your head, right? Not that I believe so, but …” He shrugged.

“Enough chatting”, Cassandra interrupted them. “It’s getting dark and we need to make way to reach the Hinterlands in any reasonable time.”

It wasn’t that dark for Siryn, but she figured her _shemlen_ and _durgen’len_ companions didn’t have the advantage of night vision as she or Solas had.

“I’ll take the first watch”, she offered quickly. She needed some way to pass the time until the need for sleep appeared. And she doubted she could rest, not while the ache of her unwanted mark still lingered.

“Agreed.” Cassandra nodded. “Wake me for the second, Lavellan. But we still need to discuss who’s sharing tent with whom …”

Siryn had known this topic would come up sooner or later. They only had two tents with them, bot large enough for two. Normally, Siryn would have been satisfied to sleep under the sky as she so often had done during the summer while she’d still been with her clan, but the sky looked clouded and the air already savored of rain.

She could endure many things, but she didn’t want to catch herself a cold.

“I’m sharing tent with Solas”, she told Cassandra. “If that’s alright with him …”

“I have no objections.” It was the first time he spoke during this evening.

“That leaves me with Varric.” Cassandra let out a deep sigh. “Alright.”

“It won’t be that bad, seeker. I thought you’re used to my company right now?”

“That’s exactly it, Varric.” Cassandra frowned and turned around to kneel down and crawl inside her tent.

Siryn wandered off-camp while the others entered their bivouacs. The air smelled heavy from the rain which, she guessed, would drench the earth this night. She took in a deep breath, seeking to clear her thoughts from the immediate sense of danger still lingering over the scenery. It had to be the Breach. Even in the dusk of this day, she could see it and how it ripped open the sky.

She opened and closed her fist, wiggling her fingers, rubbing her palm against the thighs of her strange _shemlen_ leggings. They were ill-tailored and she had to fasten them – they were crafted for broader hips than hers … She still wasn’t used to wearing them.

She could feel her breathing quicken as she thought about it … She was stranded in a world she barely knew, surrounded by _shemlen_ who viewed her as little more than a savage, even though they bowed to her and called her their Herold. It was only the title that kept them from turning against her. And she knew it. She knew it all too well. Only days before she had been the main suspect of a crime she didn’t even remember … Only days before she had very nearly faced her own execution because the citizens of Haven – and Cassandra, one of her own companions – had deemed her guilty.

_No. Don’t think about it. Focus. You’re on watch, stay guarded._

But she couldn’t still her racing thoughts ... She was alone. Her _vallaslin_ marked her as a stranger, as a heathen. She prayed to gods who were little more than demons to these _shemlen_. She had very well noticed the side-glances, the whispers. She was accepted, but only barely so. If not for the mark on her hand, she would be dead. She knew it.

Siryn inhaled the humid night air, trying to sooth the rioting emotions tormenting her, but the panic had settled and clawed its way through her whole body. She hugged herself, wrapping her arms around her shaking form. The silence of the night – darkening with every moment – did nothing to sooth her anguish.

She felt completely and utterly alone, and this was precisely the reason why she’d picked Solas as the one to share tent with. He was no Dalish, but at least he was elven, and she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping side by side with a _shemlen_ or a dwarf. It would only make her feel lonely all the more.

The moon rose past the horizon and she returned to the camp, to wake Cassandra. Siryn hasted to get it over with, so that she could retreat to her own tent and get some sleep …

Cassandra was easy to weak, as if she had been already on edge, and the _shemlen_ woman didn’t even demand an explanation. She simply gave Siryn a curt nod before she strode off-camp for her night watch.

“Get yourself some sleep”, she said without turning around, eyes already pinned on their surroundings.

Siryn turned around and kneeled down to crawl inside her tent. She was relieved when she found Solas already sleeping. He lay on his back, cheek meeting his pillow, and only his deep even breathes betrayed that he hadn’t quietly passed away in his dreams.

Siryn started to undress, eyes pinned on his face – he looked younger when asleep, she noticed, his features relaxed without any hints of tension at his jaw and brow –, trying her best to be quiet and not to wake him. Silently, she pulled her odd _shemlen_ shirt above her head and put it down beside her bedroll. Getting rid of her leggings was the more difficult task – she had to stretch out her legs and nearly kicked him with her right foot. With nimble fingers, she unbraided her hair and finally lay down, pulling the blanket up to her belly.

She took two deep breaths, closing her eyes, tried to clear her mind of the raging thoughts. Clawing her hands into the blankets, she rolled at her side … Solas’ steady breaths next to her had a calming way about them …

* * *

He woke from the sound of screaming, unnervingly close to his ears.

Still a little unwilling to let go off his dreams, he opened his eyes.

He found himself laying on his bedroll in the tent. It took his still weary eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness until he could see the slim, shaking frame beside him.

Lavellan. The curtain of long, white-blond hair fell over her face, hiding most her features from his view, but Solas could tell from the way she sat there, upright and quickly breathing, that she was the one who’d woken him. Her lean fingers were grasping her blankets tightly, seemingly unwilling to let go off them.

It did not surprise him that she had been plagued by nightmares. He had only barely saved her from those a view days ago, when she was still unconscious, her mind trapped in a dream and haunted by demons.

“Lavellan …”

She flinched at her name, turning around to look at him. “I’m … sorry. I didn’t want to wake you …”

“It is of no importance.” He brought himself into a more upright position, studying her face more closely. “I assume your sleep has been disturbed by unpleasant dreams?”

“Yes …” She nodded slightly, a frown creasing her brow. She compressed her lips for a moment, shaking her head. He noticed how she was flexing and bending her hand, the slight flare of the mark etched into her palm.

“I know how ridiculous that is, but …” She sighed. “I never dreamt of all this. I wasn’t prepared but now … Creators, I shouldn’t bother you with all this. I’m … really sorry for waking you, Solas. Don’t think of it any more.”

“I understand very well … If I can be of any assistance, I would offer if to you.” She should not even be here. It was his fault, his mistake, to which she’d fallen victim to. The mark upon her hand proved as much. “I know a great deal about the Fade and how your own emotions would affect it.”

“I … I suppose you do.” She sighed, seemingly struggling with herself. “Alright, since you asked … I’m not used to being declared a religious figure of _shemlen_ faith. The last time one of our people rose so high, they cut his ears off and burned him on a pyre.”

“You are referring to Shartan.”

“I dreamt I was him …” She paused, running her hand through her hand, her gaze wavering. “Well, not really him, but I dreamt I’d shared his fate.” Her hand rose to touch the tips of her ears. She was still shaking. “And I very well know how ridiculous this dream was. I’m not Shartan …”

“As a mage, you would know when you’d entered the Fade.”

“Of course I do …”

“Your connection to the Fade allows for you to take control of it, albeit it a limited control. But you can use it. Remind yourself, when you dream, that even though you are viewed by many as a herold of human faith, you do not need to share the fate of those who came before you. Let this knowledge change your dream. Hold onto it.”

“I’m no dreamer, Solas.”

“Yes.” He frowned slightly, shifting his posture only a little while studying her face. “But remember that the Fade is shaped by one’s emotions. If you allow yourself to stay trapped within the dream, you will never escape it.”

“So I … remind myself that I’m dreaming, and through this, I break free?”

“Yes. The important point is that you must decide to act. If you remain passive, the dream will take hold of you.”

Lavellan took a deep breath. _“Ma serennas._ You have experience with bad dreams, I take it?”

Solas gave her a slight nod. “As has everyone else.”

Only that he had learned to avoid his nightmares, even though his control of his dreams was not entirely absolute. He could control his emotions, but that did not change the fact that he still had them. Only someone lacking any kind of feelings would ever have complete control over the Fade, but the only ones who matched that description were completely and utterly separated from it.

For the most part, he had control over what he saw and experienced in the Fade, but sometimes his hold on the dream slipped, giving way to the nightmares seeking to haunt him.

“I shouldn’t have asked”, Lavellan whispered. “This is hardly any of my business.”

“I do not mind the question. It was only natural that you asked.”

A small smile flit over her features, brightening her whole face for a moment until it disappeared. “I’ll try not to wake you next time.”

She stretched out on her bedroll, rolling to her side and tugging her blankets up to her chest. Solas watched her for a moment, how sleep came to claim her again until he closed his eyes to drift away himself.

That she was burdened with the task of closing the Breach and ancient magic burning in her palm was his fault entirely. She could never know, but he did not intend for her to carry this heavy weight alone. Little did she know of the power she now wielded …

He was diminished, weakened, but still could guide her. She did not deserve the plight bestowed upon her. Neither of her people did. They could never become more if the world he had wrought continued to make them less.

It was one of the many mistakes he sought to correct.

 

When Solas returned from his watch at the morning, he found Lavellan already half-dressed inside their tent, pulling her shirt over her head the moment he entered.

She flashed him a brief smile, before she continued slipping into one of her boots. Her light hair curtained her face, half-hiding it from his view. She did not look up a second time while she laced her shoe and then the other.

“I didn’t wake you again, did I?”

“You did not.” Solas bowed down to grab his backpack.

“I guess that’s progress. Thank you again.” She finished lacing her second boot, her fingers now busy with braiding her hair.

“It was of no consequence.”

“Not for me. I’ve woken you, and I know that you … prefer your sleep undisturbed.”

“I had no difficulties falling asleep again _._ ”

She smiled, a genuine smile, brightening her violet eyes as she looked at him. “Alright.” She corded her braid with a small leather ribbon and tossed it over her shoulder. “Shall we go, then? I think this Mother Giselle is awaiting us.”

He gave her a curt nod and let her leave the tent first. As she slipped out of it, he wondered where their path would lead them. He found that he looked forward to experiencing more of it. It was a rare occasion that one the Dalish treated him like a person (for he was the one who they believed to roam their dreams). Or cared for someone they deemed a _flat-ear._ Siryn Lavellan, so far, did not match his expectations.

 

 


End file.
